


Substitution

by generalsleepy



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dungeon Raoul, F/M, Guilt, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalsleepy/pseuds/generalsleepy
Summary: Erik approaches Raoul with a reasonable proposition. Raoul will do anything to protect Christine.





	Substitution

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt, ["Scarpia Ultimatum"](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ScarpiaUltimatum)
> 
> There's some discussion of religion, specifically Christianity, in this fic. I want to be clear, though, that it isn't meant to be any general statement, but only this specific character's thoughts in this specific situation in this specific time period.

Raoul had given up on trying to guess how long he had been locked up in this dungeon. He thought there might have been some illumination in the hallway leading to his cell, but inside he could barely see his hand in front of his face, though he thought his vision was gradually improving. In the cell was a cot with a bare mattress, a chamber pot, and a jug of water.

On one hand, he was physically grateful for the water, but he was also unsettled that its presence indicated it could be a long time before Erik came to bring him anything.

But, then, Erik might have just been planning to leave him there to die with the small amount of water just as a means of taunting him. He wouldn’t put anything past the man.

It had to have been days. He tried to sleep away the time, but felt like he spent more time just staring at the walls. He drank water only when the dehydration became painful. At first, he would pace, but eventually he just lay on the cot. He found himself hoping that Erik would come. At least then, he would know what is fate was, instead of this agonizing limbo. Also, dear God, he just wanted to feel another person’s presence, even that of that monster.

He was sleeping when he was pulled into consciousness by a smooth, falsely pleasant voice. “Good afternoon, my dear Vicomte. I see you’re resting comfortably.”

Raoul’s eyes snapped open, and he propped himself up on an elbow.

Erik stood on the other side of the cell door. He wore his simple, elegant black suit and the black barbe mask. He was holding a small, cloth bundle in one hand.

Raoul tried to hurry to his feet. His underfed body refused to obey, though. It took all of his energy just to sit up.

“I have food for you. It looks as if you need it.”

Raoul hated at the couldn’t even attempt a run at escape when Erik unlocked and opened the door, then closed it behind him.

“You have no right to hold me here,” he croaked.

Erik chuckled. He leaned down to pull a piece of bread from the cloth and leave it on the ground. He tucked the cloth back into his pocket.

“What have you done with Christine?” he demanded. He braced himself on the bed and pushed himself up. He stood on wobbling feet, trying to project at least a pale shade of confidence.

“We live together,” Erik answered casually. “She is my wife.”

“Monster!” Raoul stepped forward, fists clenched. “Let her go this moment!”

“She is here of her own free will. She chooses to live with me.”

“Liar! She only agreed to stay with you to save the Palais Garnier—to save herself, me, your friend, hundreds of lives, from your cruelty. You extracted her consent under fear and threat of violence, and therefore it is void. She is _not_ your wife, legally or in spirit. You must, let her go free!”

Erik folded his arms. “And how do you presume to know so much of Christine’s wishes?”

“She is a free agent, and she has declared this to me. We became engaged only after I made clear to her that I would consent to any choice she made, even if meant leaving Paris without me, as long as she were free. We were friends as children, before she knew you, before she even heard the voice of her ‘Angel.’ I know know that Christine would never willingly live as husband and wife with a murderer."

He thought that something shifted in Erik’s bearing. Possibly, Raoul had hit a nerve. If so, he was pleased. Maybe, _maybe_ he was getting through to him.

“I have not harmed Christine in any way. She wants for nothing. Her every wish is granted, and she does not ask to leave our home."

“Out of fear. You can’t be so deluded as not to realize that.”

“You are hardly in a position to be making such bold pronouncements, monsieur,” Erik said in an faintly amused, but otherwise unemotional voice. Either he had no response to Raoul’s argument, or he’d simply grown tired of engaging with this young man he’d considered below him. “Physically, you are hardly look as if you are in any condition to defend any you might make.”

Raoul gritted his teeth. He knew that his weakened state had to be apparent. In fact, that must have been Erik’s intention in starving him for so long.

“There are people looking for us. They will find you and stop you.”

“They will fail. No one will intrude upon our peace. For your own well-being, I recommend that you do not delude yourself with false hopes.”

Raoul glared. Erik had no idea what he was talking about. As long as his brother was alive, he would search for Raoul, and he would find them. The Persian, as far as he knew, was free, and he would be searching as well.

Erik _wouldn’t_ get away with his crimes.

“Let Christine go.”  He didn’t care that he didn’t have any physical strength to back up what he said. He was right, and he wouldn’t back down on what was right.

“She does not want to leave.” At least there was a hard edge to his voice now.

“She may not have said anything out loud to you, but only because she is afraid you will make good on your threats to harm others.” Raoul swallowed. He didn’t want to do what he was about to do, but he knew it was his best option. Trembling, he got down on his knees. “Please. Let her go. Let her live her life as she chooses—as mistress of her own actions. If you truly…” He took a deep breath. “If you truly love her, you know that that is what would make her happiest. You can do whatever you will with me. Torture me, kill me, leave me to starve in this hole. I don’t care. All that matters to me, and all that should matter to you, is Christine’s happiness. Please, I beg of you, monsieur.” He clasped his hands in utter supplication. “Please, let her go.”

For a few long seconds, Erik didn’t respond. Then, he slowly shook his head. “Really, Raoul: is less than a week all it took to reduce you to this state?” His huff of laughter was devoid of humor. “To think that you ever thought you could be anyone’s rescuer.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the cell.

“Please.” Raoul’s desperation held any shame at bay. “Do not harm her. If you won’t grant her wish for freedom, I beg you to respect her wishes in all other things.”

Erik locked the cell door. His voice was sharp. “I would never dare harm Christine. I would never impose on her in any way.”

“Thank you,” Raoul said before he could think.

Erik paused. Raoul imagined a look of hesitation on the hidden features. Then, he shook his head. “Fool,” he said. He turned and walked around a corner. Raoul heard another heavy door open, shut, and then lock. He was left alone.

Raoul stared blankly at where the man had stood. Eventually, he turned his attention to what he now saw was a single piece of bread with a slice of cheese. Hunger battled with logic. The fact that Erik was feeding him indicated that he wanted to keep him alive. In that case, his only means of protest might be to refuse food. Perhaps Erik was using him as leverage against Christine: a hostage to manipulate her. By threatening what was essentially passive suicide, he might be able to extract some concessions from Erik.

Or, maybe, Erik didn’t care that strongly about keeping him alive. Whatever use he thought there might be in keeping Raoul captive must have been battling with the contempt Raoul knew the felt toward him. Maybe, Raoul was only a source of idle amusement. But, then, if Erik really did care about keeping him alive, he would certainly not hesitate to use any variety of cruel methods to feed him by force. And, if Raoul didn’t eat, he would be too weak to take advantage of any chance of escape that might present itself.

So, he crossed the cell and picked up the food. He ignored the dust from the floor as he wolfed it down. The hunger was still just as painful when he was finished.

He sat on the ground with his arms looped around his knees and chewed on his cheek. He desperately wanted to believe Erik when he said that he wouldn’t lay a finger on Christine. The man had a warped idea of love, but he did seem to genuinely care about her wellbeing.

Though, then again, he had been willing to murder her if she had chosen the grasshopper. If he was a man comfortable with murder—with killing not just that of enemies and strangers but of the woman he claimed to love—could he be trusted not to commit other acts of evil?

Raoul curled over onto his side. The stone was cold and hard, but he didn’t have the strength to move to the cot. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his forearms over his ears. His throat burned, and he couldn’t hold back the tears. He was so completely, utterly helpless. He loved Christine, but she was in danger and there was nothing he could do to keep her safe. He felt useless, pathetic, weak—like a child.

“Christine…” he whimpered, the syllables disappearing into the darkness. He freed his arms to clasp his hands in prayer.

It was something. For now, it was all that he could do.

* * *

 

Raoul had no way of knowing, but he thought that Erik fed him once a day. It was always a slice of bread, usually with cheese or occasionally half a hard-boiled egg. Once there had been a piece of sausage that had seemed like the best thing Raoul had ever tasted. He’d genuinely had to bite back a thanks to Erik when he saw it.

He was still constantly hungry. He could watch himself growing thinner, even muscle eventually beginning to waste away. He hated it so much. His physical weakness only underlined the helplessness of his situation.

If he was correct that the meals came about once a day, then it had been a month. At first he tried to talk to Erik, constantly asking after Christine.

The first time he asked, Erik had answered, “She will always be safe in my care,” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The next few times, he responded, “She is well of course.” Then, he just ignored him.

Once, he had broken down and begged Erik to let him see Christine, scraping and pleading on his knees without a hint of shame. Erik had only laughed. A few times, Raoul had greeted him with rage, invective, and demands. Erik laughed at that also.

Eventually, Raoul stopped even acknowledging Erik’s presence. He would just continue what he had been doing, either staring at the wall or praying. The sight of Raoul praying provoked a quiet chuckle or a shake of his head from Erik.

He fantasized about seeing Christine again, about Philippe, about his own bed, about proper food, about _coffee_. 

If this went on, he was going to go mad. Or he would starve in spite of the small amounts of food each day. To his great shame, he thought more and more of suicide. He contemplated refusing food, not as a protest, but to starve himself to death. He thought about bashing his head against the wall, as Christine had attempted to do, or sharpening the edge of the water jug until he could cut open his skin.

But, suicide was a sin. It was evil, unforgivable. And rescue would come eventually. And he couldn’t leave Christine alone.

So, he continued to rot in this cell, feeling his body and mind deteriorating, and waited.

* * *

Raoul was laying in bed, facing the wall when the cell door opened. He’d been practicing tying knots, moving his fingers in empty air while imagining the ropes in his hands. It was his current favorite occupation, which for the past week or so hadn’t lost its power to distract.

Usually, Erik simply opened the door just enough to place the food on the ground, then shut and locked it again. Now, though, he lingered. Eventually, Raoul turned to stare blankly at Erik. It had been a week since he had spoken anything more than mumbled prayers. He couldn’t have managed his brain or tongue enough to speak to the other man if he wanted to.

Erik had already placed the food—bread, cheese, egg, and half a carrot, which was a novelty—in the corner. His hands hung by his sides, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Raoul frowned; everything about this was strange.

“Sit up,” Erik said in a sharp, firm voice.

Raoul just blinked. He wasn’t used to be addressed and couldn’t link the words to the effort it would take to move his body.

“Sit up,” he repeated, more forcefully.

Raoul couldn’t think of a reason to bother disobeying. He heaved himself up on emaciated arms to sit on the edge of the cot.

“Nothing to say?”

Raoul continued to stare. He didn’t know what Erik wanted from him.

“No concerns about Christine?”

“Is she—” His mouth was too dry and his voice too underused to actually produce sound. He swallowed. “Is she well?”

“She is safe and happy and cared for in all ways.”

Raoul nodded. Of course, he couldn’t be sure of anything Erik said. There was nothing he could do to help Christine now, though. He knew that Christine couldn’t be happy in captivity—no matter how gilded her cage—but he hoped that she was at least in good health and well-cared for., Certainly, he knew that Erik was treating Christine better than he did Raoul.

“I must say, I really didn’t think that you would be reduced to this state so soon,” he said, voice mocking.

So, that was it: Erik wanted to get a reaction out of him. He was bored and wanted to pull on the cat’s tail to make it yowl. Well, Raoul wasn’t going to perform for Erik’s amusement; he didn’t have the energy. After all, what more could Erik do to punish him than he already was?

(Sometimes, he wished that Erik would kill him. That wouldn’t be a sin, and it would be escape. But, he knew that he couldn’t let that happen. Unless he knew that his death would help protect her, he wouldn’t die while Christine was still a captive of this monster).

“What do you want?” Raoul asked in a croaking voice.

Erik stepped further into the cell. Raoul’s fingers curled into the mattress. He hated that, in spite of everything, he still had an instinctive fear of the man.

“You love her very much, don’t you?”

Raoul opened his mouth, but hesitated. He knew it was a trick question. There was no answer that, between his jealousy and his obsession, wouldn’t upset Erik. Raoul nodded. “Yes.”

“You would do anything for her?”

Raoul felt a spark of something arc through him: something like life. If Erik brought that up, did that mean that he was offering him a way to help her? Or was he just toying with him? He felt like his brain was too starved and atrophied to work properly. “Yes.”

“Stand up.”

“Why?”

“Stand up.”

Again, he couldn’t come up with enough of a reason to push back against such a petty of an order. Standing took much more of an effort than he would have liked. His spindly legs wobbled supporting his meager weight, and his head spun a little. He vaguely put out a hand, finding nothing to steady himself.

Erik just stared at him for a while. Raoul thought that he could see the dim light reflected in his yellow eyes. Raoul round he didn’t particularly care that Erik saw his physical state. After all, it was by his doing, and starvation would have the same effect on anyone.

Finally, Erik spoke. “Undress.”

Raoul’s eyes widened, unsure of what he’d heard. “What?”

“Take off your clothes, Monsieur le Vicomte.

“I… Why?”

Even though he couldn’t see his face, Erik perceived something harden about Erik’s bearing. “I love Christine. I would rather die than do anything to harm her.”

Yes, of course, Erik had said that over and over again. What in the world did that have to do with his current non sequitur?

“I am a man like any other. I deserve a lovely wife like any other man.”

_You’re a monster! You deserve nothing. You’ve earned nothing. You’re not entitled to a wife, as if she’s some object._

Invective was more than he could manage at the moment, though. He continued to stare in confusion.

“I have the needs of any other man. In spite of my appearance, I am subject to the desires of the flesh.”

It took a long time for the meaning of the words to sink in. Suddenly, every bit of strength left in Raoul ignited in rage. “Bastard! Don’t you dare! Don’t you touch her, you—!” He took a stumbling step forward as his hands clenched into fists. Even though in the back of his mind he knew Erik could kill him with a single blow, in that moment he was ready to throw everything left of him into an attack.

“I would never hurt Christine.” He had the gall to sound indignant. “I would never inflict such a thing on Christine. I will never lay a finger on her with lustful intent.”

“Why should I believe a word you say?” Raoul spat.

Erik continued as if Raoul hadn’t spoken. “Yet, I am still a man like any other, with needs like any other. So, monsieur, undress.”

Raoul was still tense with rage, but his anger was cut with confusion. Erik had promised that he wouldn’t… impose on Christine, but what did that have to do with Raoul undressing?

Erik shook his head with a sigh of frustration. “You truly are a child. Let me be clear. I hate you.”

 _As if that’s anything I don’t know_.

“I loathe you. I could kill you without a moment of hesitation. It would be a pleasure.”

 _Likewise_.

“And yet you look like her. You look so much like her, the two of you could have come from the same mother. I desire Christine and her beauty, but I adore her and would never, ever harm her. But, I don’t care about you. I want to hurt you. I have natural desires, and if I cannot inflict them on the woman I love, I must have a substitute for whose well-being I have no concern. I have such a substitute.”

“I still don’t…” Then realization started to creep over him. Erik was referring to… and he was saying that he would… to Raoul… “But—” But that didn’t make sense. How could what Erik proposed be possible?

“Ah, I see you understand. Well, as much as an unsullied little thing like you can. Trust that there is more to the practice than you can imagine. Trust that I know what I want from you.”

“I… But…” Erik was right; he knew next to nothing about… carnal matters. But, he knew that between two men it was horrifying, monstrous, _evil_. Even as little as he knew, his former confidence had all turned to fear.

“You said that you would do anything to protect Christine.”

Things clicked into place. Erik wanted to have sex with Raoul, instead of doing the same to Christine. He wanted to use Raoul as a substitute because he thought Raoul looked like her. Erik insisted that his lust needed an outlet. If Raoul let Erik use him as that outlet, then Christine would be protected.

Erik clearly detected his new understanding. “Now. Undress.”

_Substitute. Me and not Christine. Christine will be protected._

With trembling fingers he reached for the top button of his worn, filthy shirt.

He felt heat rise in his cheeks. When the last button was undone, the embarrassment and fear overwhelmed him. He turned around and was grateful Erik didn’t make any comment. It wasn’t as if it meant anything; he was just as exposed. But at least he didn’t have to face Erik’s brutal, piercing gaze.

He pulled off his shirt and wrung it in his hands. It felt like letting go would be leaving himself utterly helpless. He forced himself to drop it on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he continued shedding first his undershirt and then his trousers. He hated the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, as though he could shame himself even more. He hesitated with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his undergarmets. Maybe Erik would see reason; maybe this whole thing had been just one more cruel attempt at humiliation. Maybe now it would all stop.

“I know that you are remarkably ignorant of such matters,” Erik’s voice sent a shudder up his spine, “but you will need to remove those in order for us to continue.”

A sob was jerked out of him before he could stop it. He clapped a hand over his mouth and wished that God would strike him dead where he stood.

But, if he died, he would be leaving Christine alone with Erik. He would be leaving her to…

He tugged the scrap of fabric off and kicked it away. Even though his back was turned, he still immediately covered himself with his hands.

(“Brother Chagny,” the other cadets on the _Borda_ had teased him in reference to his shyness and modesty. Now he was exposing himself to a murderer who was going to violate him. Who he was _letting_ violate him).

Raoul’s breathing was deep and ragged as he waited, eyes shut, tears tracking down his face, feeling the monster’s eyes burning him like hot irons.

Finally, _finally_ Erik spoke. “Get on the bed, on your stomach.”

Raoul hated that he was grateful for the order; at least it meant that he could partly hide himself. But, getting on the bed meant that they were one step closer to the act. He arranged himself as Erik had asked and clutched the mattress in a death grip. _Please let it be over soon_ , he silently begged. Please let Erik just torture him instead.

He heard fabric rustling. Erik was undoing his trousers.

 _No. Oh, God, no_.

The mattress dipped as Erik settled at the foot of the bed. Icy hands clasped Raoul’s knees and pried his legs apart.

_No!_

Raoul’s muscles instinctively rebelled, and he tried to keep his thighs together.

Erik’s grip tightened. “Open your legs.”

He took a deep breath. His legs trembled as he forced himself to obey. Erik kneeled between Raoul’s parted knees, spreading his legs as far as they would go. Panic flared in his chest, racing up his throat and down his arms.

Shivering with both cold and fear, he struggled to tamp it all down. He tried to convince himself this was just any other attack. It was no different from a savage beating. If he could think of it like that, then he would be okay. It would be awful, but he would survive.

He didn’t know exactly what was going to happen. He knew that they were naked or partially undressed and they were on a bed and there was some way that… _this_ … could happen between men. And, because it was Erik it was going to hurt. His mind summoned up images that he tried desperately to banish. He didn’t need to think about it. He wanted to just lay there and let it happen, and then it would be over.

There was a sucking sound. ( _What is that? What is happening?_ ) There was a hand on his backside. His buttocks were being spread apart, and then there was a wet finger pressed to his—

His whole body jerked and his muscles clenched. _No, no no. This is wrong, this is wrong, wrong_.

Erik slammed a fist into his back between his shoulder blades. “Don’t. Move.”

Raoul obeyed. There was nothing he could do but obey. He’d gone too far to stop now. He needed to protect Christine. It was all for Christine. Christine.

But, he shouldn’t even being thinking about her now. He shouldn’t sully her, by even thinking her name when he was in this depraved state. Disgusting.

The finger pressed inside him, hard and fast and rough. It hurt—God, it hurt—in a way that was strange and just simply _wrong_.

“Don’t!” he blurted out without thinking.

Erik left the finger inside of him. “Do you really want me to stop?” ( _How can he sound so casual as he's doing this horrible thing?_ ) “Are you withdrawing yourself as a substitute?”

 _Protect Christine_.

Eyes still screwed shut, Raoul shook his head. “No.”

“Tell me that you want me to fuck you.”

He let out a choked, pained gasp. The physical intrusion was only growing more painful, and yet Erik felt the need to hurt him even deeper. Why couldn’t Erik just take what he wanted and savage him while Raoul lay there like a corpse, wishing that was what he was?

“Please,” he grunted.

Erik punched him again. “Tell me that you me to fuck you.”

Raoul’s voice sounded alien to himself: a tiny, hollow, broken thing. “I want you to.”

“If you insist.”

Erik pushed his finger in deeper. Then another one was forced in beside it.

Raoul bit down on the fleshiest part of his hand he could reach. It muffled his cries of pain, and this kind of recognizable pain was almost distracting. The fingers felt enormous. He was being stretched in a way it felt like he shouldn’t have been. It felt like something was going to tear inside of him. Then, a third pushed in even though it _couldn’t_ fit. Raoul yelped and bit down harder.

“Be quiet.” The fingers were withdrawn. It hurt in its own way, but having them out was at a brief relief. He knew it wouldn’t last, though. He knew it was going to get worse.

He heard Erik spit, and then there was a sort of slick, slimy, fleshy noise.

_No!_

His buttocks were spread apart again.

 _Oh, God, help me, please_.

Something bigger pressed against there, wet and hard and…

He barely kept the cries of ‘ _Stop! Stop!_ ’ from escaping. Any protest would only make Erik angrier. And he couldn’t let it stop anyway, because if he did something terrible would happen. In his panic, he couldn’t remember exactly what it was, but knew that he had no choice. He had to let this happen.

He knew what the terrible thing was as it pushed inside of him, but he didn’t want to think about it. The pain was horrible and like nothing he had ever felt or imagined. He was either on the verge of breaking the skin on his hand with his teeth or he already had. Erik’s body loomed over his, one hand planted on the mattress beside Raoul's chest, the other gripping his hip. Eventually, the bare skin of Erik’s hips touched Raoul’s backside, and he stopped moving. Erik was grunting and breathing heavily. A drop of something hit the back of Raoul’s neck—sweat from Erik’s forehead.

Raoul realized that he was crying. He unfixed his teeth from his hand. The wound flushed with pain as blood rushed back, but Raoul just bit down on a chunk of flesh slightly to the side of the first. It hurt, but he understood that kind of hurt. He was doing it to himself, so he could understand it and control it. It was okay.

Erik pulled back. _Hurt_. In again. _Hurt_. Out. _Hurt_.

It felt like his insides were being stabbed. Logically, he knew he wasn’t, but he still felt like he was going to die, like this was going to kill him. Something was tearing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was ripping him apart.

He was crying openly now, uncontrollably. It hurt and it was disgusting and he was breaking and there was nothing he could do and it was evil and it was going to destroy him.

“Stop crying!” Erik growled, his voice strained with exertion.

Raoul bit harder and tried to hold his breath, but he couldn’t silence his sobs. He didn’t understand why Erik wouldn’t want to hear him crying. Didn't Erik want to hurt him? Wouldn’t he revel in any evidence of Raoul’s pain?

Raoul’s ears were filled with the sound of his own sobs, Erik’s grunts, and the sickening slap of flesh on flesh. He had to tamp down vomit at the thought of what was physically happening to him.

It was evil. This was an unnatural, evil thing.

_You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination._

_Their blood is upon them._

_Men burned in their lust toward another._

Sodomy, pederasty, sin, evil, unforgivable.

But, was it a sin, was he a sinner, if he was forced? Did it matter whether he was taking the lead or being the woman lain with? But, no: he wasn’t being forced. He’d agreed, he’d chosen. Cooperated. He was responsible, and he would be judged. He was evil. He couldn’t be forgiven.

When the angels in Sodom were actually forced, God blinded the attackers. Erik was unharmed. God was allowing this to happen. Raoul deserved this. He was evil and disgusting and filthy.

The pain didn’t recede, but he started to feel… detached. He felt the pain acutely, but it was as if it weren't being inflicted upon him, but on a body he inhabited.

He tasted blood and realized that he had broken the skin on his hand. He wondered when he had done that. He was just barely conscious enough to unlatch and move his teeth somewhere else.

Erik gave a particularly loud groan. It took Raoul a moment to recognize the sounds in his ears as words. “Christine,” he moaned. “Oh, Christine…” He dropped onto his elbows and pressed his upper arm to the back of Raoul’s neck. If Raoul hadn’t had his fist in his mouth, he would have been smothered in the mattress. Maybe it would kill him. Maybe Erik wanted to kill him. Maybe Raoul should take away his hand and let him do it.

Erik was moving deeper inside him, his weight forcing their bodies together. His grunts and groans had become more bestial. It had to be almost over.

 _Please, God, let it be almost over_.

Erik froze, buried as deep as possible and roared. His nails dug into Raoul’s neck. Raoul wondered if this meant it was over. Or maybe it would never be over.

Erik panted into Raoul’s ear, as he gave a few more thrusts. Then, he lifted himself up on his hands and knees and pulled out entirely. The withdrawal was simultaneously a relief and sent a fresh stab of pain through him. The mattress shifted as Erik stood.

Raoul kept his eyes shut and didn’t let go of his bleeding hand. He could feel something trickling out of him and down his thigh. It had to be blood. Erik must have torn something inside him. Something had to be broken, and it would be like that forever.

With the immediate, physical experience ended, the reality of what had happened crushed down on him.

He’d lain with a man. He’d _chosen_ to lay with a man.

Raoul retched, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up. He let go of his hand to spit out a mouthful of blood and sour saliva. As if he could make himself even filthier—even more loathsome and disgusting.

Every muscle aching, he rolled onto his side and drew up his legs close to his chest. His body was racked with sobs.

He was bleeding. Maybe that meant he was going to die. Maybe it would finally all just _end_.

No. It couldn’t end yet. He couldn’t leave yet, because that meant leaving Christine. He had to stay for Christine. For her.

He would do anything for Christine.

* * *

Erik was still panting when he dragged himself up from the cot.

He stared down at the naked boy. He was curled onto his side, quivering and crying faintly. Blood dribbled down his buttocks and inner thighs, more than he had anticipated. A trickle of whitish fluid mingled with it. There were red marks on the middle of Raoul’s back where Erik had punched him. The boy was so emaciated, Erik almost expected them to already be purple bruises. He was almost surprised that the fucking hadn’t broken his body like a dead leaf underfoot.

He realized that his trousers were still open. For a moment, his eyes were fixed on his softening member, stained with Raoul’s blood and filth. As he cleaned himself off with a handkerchief, he took stock of the state of his thoughts.

He’d never imagined that the first time he would be intimate with another person it would be with a man, or that it would be by force.

No. Not by force. The boy had agreed to his conditions The stupid child had made clear that he would accept any torment as long as he thought it would benefit Christine. Erik had thought that it might take more time to convince Raoul of the logic of his request, but thankfully he’d accepted it quickly. They both loved Christine—Erik with the mature love of a husband, Raoul with childish infatuation—and they would take what actions were necessary to protect her.

This had been necessary. It wasn’t an act of mindless cruelty or selfishness. It was the only option for all of them. After all, Raoul had _chosen_ to insert himself into Erik and Christine’s lives. Now, he was at least being useful, maybe for the first time in life.

He turned his back as Raoul broke into choked sobs, sounding almost like a dying man. Predictably, he didn’t make any move when the cell door opened and then closed. The boy’s crying grew louder and messier, until by the time Erik returned to the house above ground, he was openly weeping. Erik hoped he would get it out of his system soon. Maybe he would indulge him with extra food in the morning also.

This wasn’t the ending that Erik had hoped for. He wished that he could live a simple, perfect life, like any other man. In the circumstances, he supposed that this was the best that he could expect.

He could make do.


End file.
